


Timeline

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Elim Garak, POV Julian Bashir, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: When she found out she was pregnant, Mila Garak left for Morfan Province, and raised her son Elim far away from Enabran Tain. There were vast and considerable consequences.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. In the Beginning

_2358_

Enabran Tain was dissatisfied. His protégé, Pythas Lok, was an exemplary agent: intelligent, versatile, discrete, ruthless when necessary…but he wasn’t a leader. If only he’d thought to find a child and raise him, mold him. Begin with a blank slate. Maybe he should have sired a child. 

No, that wouldn’t do. A child could cause complications. A child could be discovered, kidnapped for ransom, used for leverage against him. Offspring could result in the development of sentiment, and that was unacceptable.

Tain couldn’t head the Obsidian Order forever. But Cardassia needed the Obsidian Order. With such an inept army and police force, his people were the only presence staving off complete chaos and anarchy. The Order must go on.

His thoughts circled back around. Maybe he didn’t have to start from scratch. He’d heard of a hospital that could—what was the word? Oh yes, _augment_ someone’s body and mind. It came back to him: there was a planet called Adigeon Prime. If he could take a child there and make him faster, smarter, stronger, and then train him, maybe he could _create_ a worthy successor.

_2362_

Julian Bashir hated Cardassians. Bugger them all. He didn’t personally know any. But once Enabran Tain had released all the records he uncovered on Adigeon Prime, the secret of his augmentation was out. A Cardassian was to blame for his father being jailed and Julian being denied acceptance into Starfleet.

He couldn’t find a decent job; no one wanted to trust an “heir to Khan.” He’d had such hopes for the future: attend Starfleet Medical, become a doctor of distinction out in space, live a life of exploration, adventure, and new frontiers.

After 3 years of menial labor and trying to tone down his abilities in order to not offend anyone, he was feeling desperate. Which is how he found himself on his way to a meeting with a man who said he could make use of Julian’s “talents.” It sounded suspicious, but what did he have to lose?

He walked through the park where they were to meet. Facing the pond was a bench with a man sitting on it. He had light brown hair and a craggy face. His smile was warm, although it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t even reach his nose. He stood and put out his hand to Julian and introduced himself.

“Sloan. Luther Sloan.”


	2. Progressing

_2369_

Elim hummed to himself as he walked home. It had been another productive day in the lab. Having finished sequencing proteins for the m’falla plant, he finally understood how it was capable of digesting the rare voles found only here, in the tropical climate of the Ba’aten Peninsula. Carnivorous plants were so fascinating.

Nodding to neighbors as he passed, he considered calling Mila to share the good news. She was always so proud of him when he made a new discovery. As he rounded a corner, he found that the call would be unnecessary. Mila was already at his home, kneeling in the garden.

He settled by her. “Good moontime, Mother. How fare you?” She looked up and smiled, leaning her forehead to touch her son’s. “I’m well as can be. I saw some weeds coming up and decided to take care of that. You’ve been working much too hard in the lab lately. Your garden is suffering for it.” She leaned back and gave him _the look_. “If only you had a wife to tend your hearth and home while you were gone.”

It was a familiar refrain. As was his response. “Mother, I have an entire rainforest for a garden. Why would I need one here as well? And the plants are my passion. Who needs one love, when I can have millions?”

“And what about Cardassia, hmm? What about bearing children to serve the state and carry on your legacy?” Mila looked stern, but she knew it was a losing argument. Elim loved his job. Other attachments were nothing but a momentary distraction to him.

As a peace offering, he shared his evening plans with her. “If you must know, I will be seeing someone this evening. She’s new to the area, and will be working just down the hall from me.” He left out the rest. He knew that likely the dinner would result in nothing more than a flirtatious argument; after all, who could quarrel better than he? He’d had dinner and discourse with almost everyone at Morfan Station East.

He didn’t even mention that the future was so uncertain in these times. With Bajor having won its freedom, Cardassia was going to be undergoing some major upheavals. It might even start trying to produce some of its own resources. If that was the case, scientists like him would be conscripted (gobbled up by the government, as he thought of it), and pressed into service engineering new strains of plants to feed the populace. And possibly carrying out less-benign missions.

But for now he had the station. And his botany.

_2373_

Elim took a sip of rokassa juice and glanced over an article on his padd. He looked up to see a human male standing at his table. He was fairly attractive by Cardassian standards: tall, thin waist, chiseled face. Of course, he had no ridges, but the warmth in his hazel eyes more than made up for it.

“Pardon me, Doctor Garak, is it? Of course it is.” He gave the appropriate Cardassian nod. “May I introduce myself?”

Elim was started. He’d heard of this man. He was purported to be an exile of the Federation, outed for being an augment. He’d come to Cardassia to avoid imprisonment, and Central Command had felt his abilities could be an asset. Just like Elim, he’d been ordered to Lakarian City for support in the war against the Klingons. Rumor had it that he was actually a spy for Starfleet. What could he want with a simple xenobotanist?

“Um yes, of course.” He supposed the best course of action was to be polite.

“My name is Bashir. Julian Bashir. A human, obviously. The only one on this entire planet. So I do appreciate the chance to make new friends whenever possible.” He seated himself without invitation. “You’ve been here for a while, yes?”

“Correct, for a year now. I understand you’re new?”

“Ah! You know of me then.” Bashir looked pleased. He seemed to wait for Elim’s response.

Elim wasn’t sure what he wanted, but manner dictated courtesy. “Would you care for some rokassa juice? It’s quite good.” He made as if to go to the replicator.

“No, but that’s thoughtful of you. How nice that we’ve met.” His intense focus was disconcerting, to say the least. This much attention from anyone else would have meant danger in one form or another, but perhaps humans naturally incorporated intimacy into their conversations more than his own people.

If that was the case, maybe he could speak openly and assuage his curiosity. “You know, I’ve have heard it said that you are actually here as the eyes and ears of the Federation.”

Bahir’s eyebrows raised comically. “You don’t say!” He leaned forward, closer than appropriate. “Doctor, you’re not intimating that I’m some sort of _spy_ , are you?” His eyes danced.

Flustered, Elim withdrew. “I…wouldn’t know.”

“Ah! An open mind. The essence of intellect.” Bashir leaned back again. “As you may also know, I’m a researcher for the weapons division. I have an office down the hall. So if you should happen to come across any plants that could be used in the defense of your planet, or wish—as I do—for a bit of pleasurable company now and then, I am at your disposal, Doctor.”

Elim was gobsmacked, and a little overwhelmed at the expressiveness of the alien gentleman’s face. All he could manage was, “You’re very kind, Mr. Bashir.”

“Oh, it’s just Bashir. Plain, simple, Bashir.” He stood as if to leave. “And now I must say good day to you, Doctor.” He excused himself, allowing Elim to breathe a sigh of relief.

The breath turned into a gasp as hands came to rest on his shoulders. “I’m so glad…” said the voice behind him, “to have made such an _interesting_ new friend today.” Very potent and embarrassing jolts of lightning shot through his body, straight from neck ridges to ajan. Touching a Cardassian like that was akin to a human brushing their partner’s breasts during a hug.

What had just happened?


	3. On Hold

_2374_

Julian finished encrypting his report and sent it through a newly secured channel. With Cardassia now part of the Dominion, it was getting more and more difficult to send information off-world. He’d been restricted to once-monthly contacts.

He’d never been this deep undercover before. Most of his assignments had been infiltrations of a mere 5 hours; a few had lasted a week. Only a handful had extended the full course of a month. And now, here he was on an alien planet, the only one of his species, stuck in one place for _years_.

It couldn’t be denied that his time here had been productive and successful several times over. The strategic removal of no less than 1 gul and 3 legates had significantly weakened the military operations. Damar had been a particular feather in his cap. Bashir had also sabotaged any number of secret correspondences and government orders, and in one case, managed to get an entire training program so mangled that it had to be scrapped.

And if he was successful in his current task, he might even be able to pull out and return to Earth.

Section 31 needed him; they’d come across research that a few of the plants and fungi on Cardassia Prime contained compounds that could be used by the Federation to weaken their enemies; one was looking promising at helping to break the Jem’Hadar of their ketracel white addiction, and another might be able to poison the Founders by weakening the bonds in their matrix.

He’d been sent to explicitly follow the work of one Dr. Garak. It was through his investigations that they’d found hope in the Dominion War. Julian’s responsibility was to befriend the botanist and access as much of his work as possible to siphon it back home. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until they became acquainted that he discovered Elim’s discoveries were based on organisms in the Morfan Province. When he was called into service for the State, his work had to be put on hold.

The Cardassian Union joining the Dominion had been a lucky break, of sorts. Dr. Garak had been reassigned back home. He could continue his original research. And hopefully progress it.

The dilemma had been that Julian was ordered to Cardassia City. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince his superiors that he had plans to build biomechanical weapons that relied on organisms only found in the last remaining rainforest on the planet. And so he followed his friend to Morfan Station East.

A couple problems still needed to be addressed. The first was that he had to exert his influence enough to direct Dr. Garak’s efforts to focus on the plants and fungi that would help the Federation. The second was to contribute his own substantial brainpower in taking the botanist’s findings and weaponizing it without being found out. And the third…was the man sleeping in the next room.

_2375_

The war was going well. So the newscasts said. Elim knew that most of what he heard was propaganda. The Dominion _said_ that Cardassia was a valuable ally, but many citizens were of the opinion that their home was a valuable _resource._ Each month, a new law was passed allocating more citizens and materials to the war for the quadrant. The cities were showing a marked increase in poverty and starvation as a population that still hadn’t recovered from the skirmish with the Klingons continued to go without so that their planet could focus on war machines and soldiers.

When addressing the populace, Dukat assured everyone that the wormhole remained secure, protected by their forces at Terok Nor, and the Federation was slowly falling. He promised unlimited prosperity once their foes were defeated. Even so, each time he made a new announcement, fewer citizens gathered to watch. Their faces looked grimmer. They turned away before he finished. It didn’t feel like winning, and it certainly didn’t feel like freedom.

Elim heard these things, witnessed a few of them, but here in the Ba’aten Peninsula, enfolded by the Morfan rainforest and surrounded by neighbors, family, and a dear, dear friend, it all seemed…so far away.

He finished planting the final Rubdal seedling and placed the flat into the final shelf in the incubator. This new batch was showing a great deal of promise in producing _rubdaline_ , a chemical that he’d discovered (and thus named) which was near-miraculous at fighting addiction. Imagine how many people—on this planet and across the quadrant—that could benefit from such a compound!

“Hallo Elim!” called a voice behind him. He turned to see Julian leaning in his doorway, wearing that winning grin. “I thought you might be ready for lunch.”

“I just finished; you have impeccable timing as always, my dear.” He cleaned up his workspace, tidying each padd, each beaker and flask, returned every last tool to its rightful drawer or cabinet. Satisfied, he prepared to leave and found his friend leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed indulgently.

They left the building to eat at a table in the shade of the building but with a fantastic view of verdant, tree-covered mountains. They discussed their most recent literature selection, Meditations on a Crimson Shadow, by Preloc. Just as with every story, they found disagreeing viewpoints; Julian claimed he was too romantic and looked for meaning in the smallest details, while he felt that the other man paid too much attention to duty and logic. They worked themselves into a delightful debate, which grew more heated towards the end of their break. They’d have to finish the argument at home, safe from prying ears and much, much closer to their bed.

He couldn’t believe how much had changed over the past few years. He knew that once upon a time, he’d been the most prodigious flirt at the station, admired by many but envied by few. The arrival of Mr. Bashir had turned that world on its head with his arrival; he’d been so worldly and jaded and sophisticated, and Elim had felt horribly outclassed. At first, it had seemed the younger man was only interested in a physical relationship, but it never progressed beyond an occasional pat on the back or touch to the shoulder. They found several like interests, from music and literature to small dabbles in politics, and he soon found himself seeking out Julian’s opinion on all manner of topics, even his research.

Then they had both been assigned at Morfan Station East. He offered his friend a room to stay in until he found an apartment on the station with other off-worlders. But there was no hurry, and then there was no need.

Lunches were no longer the only meals shared; dinners and the breakfasts became part of their routine. They spent evenings behind the house, Julian reading or following the newscasts, Elim working on the garden or chatting with Mila. Nights were spent wrapped around one another, limbs and breaths tangled. It was all so very domestic. In the city, such an unconventional partner and lifestyle would be frowned upon; surely no offspring would be produced to serve the State. But that was there and this was here.


End file.
